The Lucky Ones
by As-Long-As-I'm-Around
Summary: A new investor joins the Park, but Claire soon comes to realize that he is not invested in the animals, but in her. And when Claire finds out why, she's only too happy to accept whatever he wants to dish out to her. Because it's true, she killed them. Hurt!Claire Pissed!Protective!Owen WARNING: Abuse. Epilogue now added. Owen and Mr. Smith confrontation.
1. Chapter 1

Owen has told her in many different ways to be careful about that smart mouth of hers. To use it to be preservative when needed, and to be selective with her wit when - not if - she engages in debates.

He tells her that he thinks it is sexy as hell, the way she stands up for herself and dominates. Then he will laugh, and tell her he especially likes that in the bedroom, before becoming serious again and telling her that there are those in power who won't stand for it.

Claire doesn't interrupt him to say that she already knows this. That she has been here for a long time, worked the ladder steadily so she can enjoy the view. Instead, she laughs and tells him she can take care of herself, and will. He had rendered her silent when he tells her that she's no longer the only one taking care of her.

This is the first time that he asks anything of her, and does it in such a way that it is not expressed as an order. No, it sounds more like a suggestive instruction.

She remembers bringing her fingers to his face, and pressing them into the wrinkles in his forehead. As if she could erase them with just her touch.

His eyes, always watchful, and his expression tender as he looked down at her.

"I think you've done enough worrying, Owen. I'll be fine. I mean...I outran the T-Rex, didn't I?" She laughs, though there is nothing funny about it. Not even a year later.

By the expression on Owen's face, he is thinking the same thing.

"Claire, you're not indestructible. I don't want that to be what you use." His tone is serious again, and Claire's hand falls from his face. He catches it on the way down, holding it firmly in his own.

"I think we both know that it was sheer luck that night. I learned more than anything that I am not indestructible. I learned it by what I called assets, and I learned it by understanding that love is more then just a title." The words were slow, as if either she has to think about them or she struggles to say them. She does not like showing weaknesses, and it has taken a long time to realize that admitting these things is actually a strength.

"Wasn't just luck. It was your bravery and determination." His voice is very soft, and he squeezes her hand.

"And yours," she adds, and he just smiles. She knows that he will never joke about his part, just like she can never speak about her own. She understands that Owen will talk himself up, but when it comes to the more serious things he has done that is known and good, he is quiet.

"I love you too," He tells her, and drops a kiss on her forehead, ending that conversation.

This particular exchange between the two plays again in her mind as she sits in a meeting, watching the new investor of the park as he speaks and makes gestures to the projector and his audience.

She is not so much listening to what he is saying, but the way he conducts his speech. There is a power about him that Claire senses.

He reminds her of a poised snake. Ready to attack and sink teeth into the flesh, injecting poison while his prey can only watch, knowing they are going to die but not being able to do anything about it.

His eyes meet hers more times then necessary, and she knows that they recognize each other.

She only wonders what he sees in her.

Whatever it is, it interests him, but does not frighten him the way it frightens her.

The meeting is soon over, and people are trickling out of the room. Claire begins to stack her papers and notes together when she both sees and feels a shadow. Her shoulders tense and her traitorous body flinches.

It recognizes threats. Recognises that who is behind her is not good, and her suspicions are confirmed when she turns around and locks eyes with him.

The new investor-

"Mr. Smith." He holds out his hand, and she wants to laugh because it is such a mundane name for someone like him.

"Mrs. Grady," she murmurs, placing her hand in his and exchanging a firm handshake. His eyebrows raise at her name, and she sees the calculating expression on his face. However, his eyes are like shutters, and she is reminded of herself a year ago, when she too was a master of control.

She still is, but she likes to think she has the best of both worlds.

Claire brushes her hands back to the table, skimming her fingers over the documents as she gathers them up.

She places them against her chest as she eyes the hovering man. He has not said why he remains, and so she decides to speak.

"I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with?" She is all polite patience.

"I'm just wondering. How are you still the operating manager?" Claire thinks she is meant to be insulted, but she smiles instead.

"That's classified, but I do not blame you for inquiring." Classified is still her favorite word, and she uses it as much as she can.

Especially around Owen.

It drives him nuts, and she enjoys that.

Mr. Smith, however, does not seem to like the word.

"It was under your management that led to the Indominus Rex escaping, and breaching all enclosures." It is so blunt that Claire stops for a moment.

But she keeps her composure, and continues to smile up at him.

"And in the end, I am the one who salvaged it."

"But if you had done so in the first place, none of this would have happened. People would not have _died._ "

Claire pauses again. She does not want to play this game, and it is getting harder to use her manners with this man. She keeps her cool with logic.

There is a reason he has initiated this, and the only reason she continues to play is because she needs to know _why._

"Maybe so. But I was following orders, Mr. Smith. Things were out of my control."

"Nothing is out of your control."

She regards him for a moment, thinking of the words and the cold way he says them.

"On the contrary, sir, I find that untrue. But to each their own." She moves, and he is suddenly blocking the way to the entrance less subtly now.

Claire's eyes slide to the foyer, which is now silent and empty, before she drags them away and up to Mr. Smith's.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Grady. You're Owen Grady's wife." It is not a question, but Claire feels that she needs to answer.

"My name is Claire. But yes, that is correct." She does bear his last name, but she still also bears her title. She spent a long time building it up, and even now it still stands strong, challenge after challenge.

"So, it worked out well for you, didn't it?"

Claire knows that he is an investor. But she realises that what he's investing in is not in the business. It's her, and perhaps Owen. Because in a twisted way, he is correct. They were the lucky ones. Their tale is something of a movie - they conquered, fell in love and got married. Claire had character development; it is all fitting for the big screen.

But, it is not a movie. And the they are not the stars, and those who died are not the supporting roles.

She remembers Zara, and remembers Zach telling her how she had died. She remembers the far away look in his eyes as he relives it with each words he says. In a recent phone call, he admits that it still keeps him up at night, and if it doesn't, then it certainly wakes him up.

She flinches at that memory, and a low smile curls across Mr. Smith's face.

"I like that. Seeing you scared, vulnerable. I like it a lot."

Claire blinks up at him. His words bring a different kind of fear, and she suddenly wants Owen standing beside her, deflecting this. She wishes she could be weak; the kind of person who yells immediately for help. She knows the truth is, that it is the smart thing to do. But she has never been that way, even in her own terror. So she stands there, and finds a way to redirect. She channels the anger instead.

"Excuse me. If you don't want to talk to me about business, then I ask you to please step out of my way."

He doesn't move, and Claire tries once again to push past him. He suddenly reaches out and takes hold of her shoulders in a grip so tight and painful, that Claire cannot help the squeak of protest that escapes her.

He smiles again, and she attempts to pull herself away.

"Let go of me," she demands. The only sign now that she is frightened is her own death grip on the manilla folder in her hands.

And suddenly, he is releasing her and letting out a friendly laugh.

"Sorry, Mrs. Grady. I was just helping you get through," he pushes her to the side of him, and then strides out. She takes a moment, facing away from the door before she turns around to see who is waiting for her.

It is Barry, and his eyes are suspicious and alert.

She knows that Owen should know about this. They have always worked better together when in sync. But she cannot bear to be more of a burden to him. She cannot bear to bring home any more demons. She does not want to be another worry line in his forehead.

She smiles at Barry, ready to to appease him.

Barry does not smile back.

"Are you alright?"

Claire raises an eyebrow as if she is perplexed by that question, but he just looks at her, and she admits a small truth.

"I don't like that man." They both watch as the elevator door closes with Mr. Smith on it, and Barry says slowly, with narrowed eyes,

"No, I don't either."

And that is the end of that, or so Claire thinks.

* * *

Claire comes out of the bathroom in a shirt that is much larger than she is. She does not want Owen to see her shoulders, because she knows what will happen if he does. He looks up at her from the dishes he is washing and takes in her appearance. He does not say anything about it yet, but she knows he's wondering why she's switching up her night clothes. After all, Claire is all about organisation.

She comes to a stop beside him and picks up a towel. Her fingers pluck a drying dish from the rack, and she begins to complete the job. She tries not to make her movements too quick or too hard, because her shoulders are aching under the bruises that decorate her flesh.

Owen holds a clean plate out, his eyes on hers as she reaches up to grab it.

"Honey, are you alright?" Claire's fingers stop inches from the plate.

"Yes, of course." She doesn't ask 'why wouldn't I be' because she feels as if she would be walking into a trap. Owen sets the plate down and away from her, before turning back and placing his hands onto her shoulders.

Directly where Mr. Smith's had been earlier in the day.

Claire knows as she looks at him, and he looks at her, that Barry has informed him of what he had seen.

Which begs the question - how much had he seen? Well, she's not going to ask. Instead, she waits as Owen moves down to the top of her sleeve.

Claire pulls away.

"Owen -"

"Yes?"

"Please don't."

"Why not?" He asks, and she quickly shuts her mouth. She does not have a reasonable answer to give, and besides, he already knows.

Owen's hands move back to her shoulders, and she attempts to pull away again. This time, Owen does not let her.

"Claire." His tone is authoritative, but he expresses it in such a manner that Claire finds herself obeying not because she has to, but because she wants to.

His fingers are now working on pulling the sleeves down. He is very still as he looks at the marks, and Claire finds that she cannot breathe either. Then Owen moves, and his breathing is suddenly rough as he gently fingers the bruises. Claire releases her own breath in a shiver, and it's not because she is cold.

Owen pulls the sleeve up.

"You weren't going to tell me." His voice is flat, and he's clenching his jaw as if trying to keep his anger in check.

No, she wasn't. And she tells him so.

"Why?" he asks, and looks as if no answer she can give will be satisfactory, but she better start damn trying to explain.

"It's not a big deal," She refuses to look at him.

" _Claire,_ " Owen says.

"It's not."

"Fine - let's go with that then. If it's not such a big deal, then _why not tell me?_ "

She makes a dismissive gesture, and Owen clenches his teeth this time.

"You have two options. You can either tell me what happened, or I will find him myself and get the truth. Either way I'll know. It's up to you how I find out."

"Barry already told you." She's still not looking at him, but Owen isn't having any of that. He reaches out and takes her chin very gently in his hands, turning her face towards him. She swallows at his dark expression.

"Barry told me half a story. So, are you going to tell me the rest or am I going to find him?"

"Just leave it alone." She knows as soon as she says it, that there is no way in hell that it will ever be an option for Owen Grady.

"Leave it alone?" He repeats, as if he doesn't understand the meaning of the words in this context.

"It's okay, Owen." She says, but it's not. Not to her, and certainly not to him.

"Claire. Those marks on your shoulders? They are a lot of things but they are not okay."

"He's our business partner, Owen. I can't screw this up." She doesn't say it, but she thinks the word, 'again.'

"I don't care who this man is. To me, he will always be the one that gave you those bruises." He keeps one hand on her face, and moves the other to her shoulders. He brushes his fingers across it, and she flinches.

He stops. Takes a deep breath.

"And if he ever touches you again, or makes you feel uncomfortable, I'll give him a lot more than bruises. I'll put him in the hospital."

Claire rolls her eyes.

"Owen, don't be so dramatic."

"Oh, you think I'm kidding, do you?"

"Can we drop this?" She knows he's not kidding.

"Sure. As soon as you tell me what happened." He takes a step back from her now, and folds his arms across his chest.

Claire blows out an impatient breath.

"Fine. He wanted to make a point. I made him unhappy with what happened. Point made."

Owen is silent for a moment as he processes, his expression growing angrier and angrier with each passing second. She knows what he's doing - he's imagining it, spinning it and twisting it, and she wants to tell him it's not as bad as he thinks, but knows Owen and knows that she has to wait.

"Mr. Smith - the new investor then? He wanted to make a point to you? What point? Claire, honey - you know that is not allowed, don't you? Please tell me that you have reported this."

She stays silent.

Owen's eyes widen, and then narrow.

"Okay, that answers one of those questions, but now I have a few more. _Why_ didn't you report it?"

"Because he made his point!"

"So? You think that it's okay because he got a point across?"

"No - I just think it's done."

"Right. Because it's that easy. What point, Claire? Last time I'm going to ask you."

"I told you what point. Message received. There's no need for him to do anything else."

"I can't believe I am hearing this. There was never any need to do anything in the first place." He is shaking his head in denial, and she wishes that she could agree with him, because he is right. He is right, but he is wrong. It was necessary to make a point; she deserves it.

"Please don't interfere. I can handle it. It won't happen again." She tells him, and Owen stops, and looks very seriously at her.

"You can't handle it, Claire. And you shouldn't have to. He put his hands on you, and left marks on you. He's spoken openly of a vendetta against you. He thinks he's untouchable and everything in me, is telling me to go and show him how very wrong he is."

"Owen, come on. You're overreacting."

"Am I? He's an animal, Claire. A fucking snake." Owen sounds like one too as he hisses the words out.

"He's a person."

"No, he's an animal. The worst kind. A predator. He's high on the food chain and he knows it. And he made sure you do, too." She had been trying not to think of the words that had been haunting her, but what Owen has just said triggers them. She mashes her teeth together and squares her shoulders, pushing the thoughts away.

Along with pushing the urge to wrap herself in Owen and remain there away. It's what she does best - pushing.

Owen is watching her, an odd look on his face. But he does not move, he simply stands there, observing, waiting on her. She's not exactly sure what he's waiting for. He should know that if she's argued this far, than she is going to keep driving it home. She walks forward and steps into Owen's space. He's looking down at her, torn and angry and upset and she knows that this needs to end now.

"Owen. Please. I have a new assistant starting tomorrow. They will be with me from here on, I promise. It'll be okay." She looks up at him with big eyes, and he starts to deflate.

"Alright. If I find out you've broken this promise, Claire - and I will find out - then that's it. I'm stepping in. I mean it, this is not a suggestion, and that was not a threat. I'll know if you don't."

She sighs.

"You know everything." There is no heat to the jibe. It is the truth.

"That's the best sense you've spoken all night. But I don't know about this. Come on, leave the dishes." He leads her to the room, and takes off the long shirt that she is wearing. Claire is nervous at first, but Owen prevents her from trying to hide. He kisses her cheek, to her jaw and then down her neck. This time when Claire shivers, it's the good kind. He then moves his lips to her shoulders, and spends time kissing the bruises.

Claire feels almost child like, as if he is kissing her to heal her wounds. She thinks that it works on the outside flesh, but not so much on the inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So part of the reason this actually took so long was because my editing of the chapters screwed the layout and I just wanted to avoid it. Also, I lost chapter 2. So to those who have already read and this is different - and bad different - than I am sorry. I'm also sorry this took so looooong! To everyone who has reviewed, I love them. I love reading them, and your kind words.**

* * *

Claire's new assistant is George. He has a kind face, and an even kinder smile. He puts her at ease, and he is efficient and good at what he does.

But he is not Zara, and that's what sets him apart. She wants to distance herself from him, and the space of Zara he represents, but she made a promise to Owen. Besides, there are other things that call her attention, and she cannot put her own selfish wants above them. So they quickly pick up a system that seems well oiled. The work becomes easier, and is finished at a much faster pace. Days turn into a week, and then two, and the couple of times that she has seen Mr. Smith have been with a room full of people, and with George himself. If George picked up on the tension he does not say anything. He is everything she would have wanted two years ago.

Zara intruded with her observations not just with her work life, but her personal life too. There were times where Claire would snap at her, and Zara would remain quiet from hurt. Then, as the two grew to know each other, there would still be the snapping, but not so harsh, and Zara would argue until she drove her point home. In fact, it was her that forced Claire to go on the first date with Owen.

It is on that day, with that particular thought, that Claire chooses to visit Owen. Perhaps on a deep level of consciousness, she knew what would happen. Perhaps this was her way of trying too help herself - by giving her the means to withstand what would come.

She stands at the viewing over the park, a lone figure, standing tall. Owen is feeding what she calls the baby raptors. He is a mother hen, an alpha, herd of the pack - father to all. He is kind and gentle, patient and loving. He does not anger, but works slowly as he teaches. Claire sees the look in his eyes - and she knows that it will be not _if_ she has children, but _when_. Denying Owen to a family would be wrong. It's not something they've had a chance to talk about yet, and Claire wonders exactly how that conversation will go. She is a monster - but monsters can give birth to children. She's seen it, in humans and in animals. Sometimes, there is a fine line. Would her child be like her? Would she pass this on? Or would she be unable to love her child - be the cruel and cold woman she used to be? There is enough blood on her hands. The very thought of it terrifies her, so she does what she does best. Closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Represses it. Opens her eyes.

Owen is staring at her, a little smile on his face, but his eyes cautious. As if he has has seen into her mind, or some of it. She puts her hand on the glass in greeting, and then turns. As she walks back, she keeps the image of Owen cradling the small creature to his chest, eyes bright with awe and something close to love. This image is what she will use when she has her moments. When closing her eyes is simply not enough. When she feels as if she is on a small boat, on rough seas, nauseated, sick and scared. This will be her anchor.

* * *

She hands George the last of the documents.

"So if you can write that up, and have it emailed to me in an hour, that would be really appreciated."

"Not a problem." George says smoothly. He turns to the door just as it opens, and Mr. Smith slips in. Claire pulls up short, shooting a glance first at George, and then back to the older man.

"How can I help you?"

"You can take a seat." Mr. Smith says to her, and than looks to George. The two exchange nods, and Claire knows there is something wrong by the familiarity of it. She opens her mouth to question it, but Mr. Smith beats her to words.

"And you, my son, have done wonderfully. You can leave now."

Claire feels as if she's been sucker punched. She slips into a seat, not because of the order, but because she cannot stand after that revelation.

"Alright father," George's voice is quiet. He doesn't sound thrilled, but that doesn't matter much to Claire. He is in on this to some extent. He's not going to stick around for whatever his father has planned for her, but he's not helping her, is? That makes him just as involved.

George shoots her an unreadable look, and then he is out the door.

Claire folds her arms on the table. Her hands hidden, she begins to clench and unclench them.

"Isn't it quite ironic? That your new assistant is my son?"

"No, I don't find that ironic at all." Claire chooses her words carefully. "I'm sure there's some special meaning in it, besides being able to get close to me."

"Yes. There was a very special meaning to it." Mr. Smith says in a low voice. Claire looks at him closely, and this time she sees it, not hears it. There is raw hate, real and so close that she could touch it. Instead, she flinches back from it.

"This is very personal to me." He says softly.

"For one who is about control, I'm surprised it's almost gone already." Claire murmurs. She does' know what she's trying to accomplish in her responses. Is she trying to stall him, or change his mind? It would be stupid of her to think that of him - that he would come this far, just to change his mind from a few words.

"I'm all about a different kind of control right now. Aren't you even curious as to why it's so personal to me?"

Claire already has a strong idea of why it is.

"Someone died that day."

"Yes."

"A very loved and cherished someone."

"You speak as if you know what that's like. From what she told me - you had no idea of the matter."

Claire frowns at this. There is no one she knew well enough to pierce together that information. Unless...

"That's it. Come on, you can get there. You're smart; you've had to be to get this far and still be surviving." The words are not complimentary; she's meant to be insulted, but all she can feel is the growing horror of realisation. It makes sense in a twisted way. Using George for intel, also getting some sense of satisfaction knowing that Claire had liked him. The only thing that had been wrong with him, was that he wasn't his sister.

"You're Zara's father."

"Was. I _was_ her father. I'm not anymore, because she's dead."

Claire looks down at the table. She cannot meet his eyes, because he is right. The truth only hurts if you don't want it to be real.

"Nothing to say? No fake polite chit chat? No denial? Come on, I've heard you're a real spitfire. I'm disappointed."

Claire lifts her chin. He wants a fight, but she will not give it to him. Let this be over, let it be done. She deserves what's coming to her, and she'll welcome it with open arms. She's been waiting for justice; Owen and the management team and everyone else can say it wasn't her fault and she did what she could, but she knows the truth: if she had listened to Owen in the first place, if she had just done everything differently - then things would be different.

Mr. Smith wants to knock her off a stool. What he doesn't understand is that the legs have already been broken, and only remain with glue that is Owen and her small family. It is not her that is holding herself together.

"I have nothing to say. What happened... I didn't get to rehearse and do over when I made mistakes. It was real, and I handled it how I could. I'm more sorry than you could ever know about Zara's death. I loved her. Back then, I loved her the best way I knew how. You'll never believe me about that. Or how Zach, my nephew, sees her death over and over. How I see it over and over. You don't see my nightmares. You see me as a living reminder that your daughter is dead. I see it in the mirror, too. So no, I'm not going to fight you." Claire stands up, pushes the chair back, and moves to the middle of the room. She is seconds away from opening her arms in an invitation.

Maybe she's crazy. It's not like she wants what Mr. Smith is giving her. But she is tired of fighting the inevitable. If not him, than someone else. If not someone else, than herself.

Mr. Smith almost looks like he is going to hesitate. But then he is moving, locking the door and turning to face her with a hungry expression.

Claire swallows back more than just fear and words. She swallows back some part of her old self that is rising up. She urges it down and away again. She is ready.

Or so she tells herself, until the first punch is thrown.


	3. Chapter 3

Claire wonders briefly how she is going to go about hiding this. Make up may help, but what can cover the flinches of pain, the flicker of fear in the eyes?

Mr. Smith was kind enough to aim his kicks and punches at her body, but either he slipped up or could just not stand the sight of her face being left untouched.

She thinks it's the latter; Mr. Smith is not a man to slip, even when he's giving the control to raw emotions.

Either way, she's going to be sporting a wicked black eye soon.

She manages to move her mind to something else. The image she had seen earlier during the day helps. In time - she guesses an hour - her body relaxes enough that she is able to uncurl from herself. She stands, and walks to the door on trembling legs. It is a slow passage, and it is painful, but she reminds herself that she's done the slow and steady before and has won the race, and eventually she is able to lock the door and then slide down against it.

Claire thinks she is still in shock, and that her body and mind are working in overtime. She knows that as soon as that fades, so will she. As it is, she is barely hanging on. What will she be like then?

She crawls over to her desk where her bag is still upright against the leg of her chair. It's funny how that sticks out to her - that even though she was tossed around and somewhat damage in the whirlwind of grief and revenge - some twisted form of justice - that her bag remained untouched and left in it's original place.

She reaches in, and retrieves her small make up pack. As she reapplies her foundation, she remembers a time where Owen stood watching her brush powder onto her face. His hip was against the door and his arms folded over his chest as he observed. She remembers how he told her that she was beautiful without it. That he likes the freckles on her face, and the creamy, natural complexion. Sometimes, she does too.

But not today.

She remembers how she asked if it was her looks that drew him, and he would laugh and admit that it partly was. But what really set her apart was her spirit.

"Above all, you're fierce. Spirited. A challenge. I wanted to be the one to undo you. But you accepted the challenge and you put up such a fight that I was reeled right in from day one. Except, you didn't want me then. You threw me back in."

"And you kept biting. Like an annoying little fish, really." She baits him, and he chuckles darkly.

"Oh darling, I am much more of a shark. But I guess I thought you were more of an equal than food. In the end it hardly matters, right?"

But it did - he may not say it, but the words, 'look what it took to get you to see' had lingered in the air, and Claire often wonders what it would have been like if it had not taken so long.

But that was not their story, and there were things you could not change.

Like the deaths that Claire had caused.

Claire goes past casually reapplying to caking the make up on over her red rimmed eyes and underneath. When she comes to her injured eye that is beginning to bruise, she has to hold back a flinch of pain. Then she remembers that she is alone, and that she doesn't have to be strong. Can admit that she can't be strong.

And then she is crying and having to reapply it again.

She takes out her phone and sends a quick text to Owen, before placing it into her bag. She tells him that she has to work late. Planning, she blames it on, which is partly the truth. She _is_ trying to plan how to cover this. It's what she is best at, according to her past transgressions.

Claire brushes her hair and puts on some lip liner and lipstick. She looks at the finished result without admiration. She knows she looks good, but all she can manage to think is that she will do.

She closes the mirror and takes out her phone again, scrolling through her planner to see what she has on today. The only thing that strikes as important, is the weekly Skype chat she has with Owen and her nephews. And that makes her think of what Mr. Smith has said, because, how does she continue on with her happy little family life?

The guilt that she has always felt has been dragged up, and now sits on her as heavy as the bruises will. As heavy as his eyes had, as the words he had spat out, an the punches he had delivered.

He has made sure that she can never, ever forget.

He hadn't need to. It's been imprinted within her, far deeper than any physical mark can reach.

He has completely broken any stool that she had been on. Like she had told him - it had been wobbly at best before. She wishes he somehow could have seen in her mind. He would have known in an instant about the nightmares she had, so severe that she used to hide in the bathroom after them.

She'd hidden that from Owen for a week before he'd found her curled into a ball in the bathtub. He had simply climbed in without hesitation, shifted her into his lap and held her until she'd fallen asleep. He'd told her that he understood, that this had happened to him post military days. Told her that they'd decided to stick together, and that the nightmares were a part of the package. She'd never tried to hide anything from Owen again.

Until now.

Claire's phone buzzed, and she opened the conversation thread.

Owen's reply is straight to the point, and she is both surprised and not so surprised at his four worded reply.

'Alright. Are you okay?'

The words flash at her, and her fingers hover over the keys as she forms a reply in her mind, and then begins to type.

'I'm okay. I hope you're having a good afternoon. As always, stay safe. I love you.'

Owen's reply is slow, and she knows it's because he is mulling this over in his head. Her phone begins to vibrate, and Claire knows she has to answer it.

She coughs as she picks it up, hoping that in that one cough, she's released anything that might give away the fact that she's been crying.

"Hello?" she says.

There is a silence.

"Hi, sweetheart. Are you sure everything's alright?" He is offering the chance to her again, and Claire wants more than anything to take it. She wants it so bad that it's all she can think about, and she can't answer until he prods her.

"Claire?"

Her name brings her back - Mr. Smith had said it a lot. Like he loved to hear it tarnished.

"Oh, what was that? Sorry honey," She forces herself to sound breathless, so that he thinks she didn't hear because she had been running around.

The pause this time is longer.

"I asked if you were alright." He says very slowly. Manipulative.

She is better.

She has to be, and so she is.

"Yes I'm fine. Tired, but nothing a coffee won't fix!" It is a joke between them; she is a java junkie, and he likes to pick at her for it.

But not this time.

Instead, he asks her another question.

"Your assistant with you?"

This time she pauses.

There is a lot of pauses, and Claire feels like she is the subject, the interest to a hunter. They are both aware and circle around each other, making calculative and subtle movements.

"Of course. But he won't be here for much longer."

"And Mr. Smith?"

"What about him?" Her heart is beating fast now, and her phone feels as if it will slip out of her sweaty grasp.

 _"Claire,_ " he says, and she swallows. He can even do it over the phone.

But she reminds herself- _she is better._

"I haven't seen him."

"Didn't you have a meeting with him?"

She knows she's stuffed up now, and isn't surprised that somehow he knows about the meeting. She was the only one who hadn't known, until Mr. Smith had told her in his parting words.

"So no one expects you for awhile. And they better not. I don't think you'd want anyone to know, but hey. Maybe you are stupider than you look." And then he'd walked out, leaving her bleeding and hurting and crying on the floor.

She feels trapped and cornered, desperately searching for even the smallest opening.

"How do you even know about that?"

"I know everything, remember?" He reminds her of their conversation two weeks ago.

"Do you? Tell me more," She tries to come off flirty. Know she succeeds. But Owen isn't playing, so it is not a fair match.

"Alright, here's one. I know that you were meant to see him."

Claire fights the urge to sigh.

"It's been postponed. They've asked me to do something else. Which is why I'll be late home tonight." Her voice is noticeably cooler.

"Alright, Claire. Have it your way." She hears the unspoken 'for now' and doesn't respond. It doesn't matter, because Owen is soon continuing.

"I love you. Be safe, be smart. And - I'm here, Claire."

"I know. Thank you," She can only manage a whisper now.

"You're welcome Mrs. Grady." She is still not used to the name, but she knows when he calls her by it that she likes it.

"Good day, Mr. Grady." She hope he can hear the smile in her voice. He often comments on how much it alters her tone. She doesn't wait for his response, but instead hangs up and puts the device on silent before sending a quick message to Lowery, informing him that she is not contactable for the most part, unless it is urgent.

He is not suspicious, but does ask if she needs help. She says no and thanks him.

And then, the silence is too loud, so she removes the papers from the manila folder. She reads through, absorbing and distracting her battered mind. It is not a healing method, but a coping one.

She uses her phone to research Mr. Smith and his son. The son is ordinary, overshadowed by his father who is anything but. Claire wonders about the relationship between the two, and then decides it doesn't matter.

Her phone battery starts to die, so she sends another text to Owen, notifying him of her overnight stay. She tells him that her phone is almost dead, and she is glad that she doesn't have to lie, because it is the truth.

He tells her Zach and Gray missed her tonight, and she switches off her phone and wishes she could also switch off the pain in her heart.

She doesn't know when she makes the decision, or how she even manages to pull it off, but she is soon flagging down someone who can fly her off the island and to her sister. Claire is not sure how many hours slip by; time is different to her now. It passes, that she knows, but it is slow, like a dying, faded pulse.

Karen is waiting for her, and she falls into her sister's arms, grateful that the boys are at their father's, and grateful that her sister does not ask any questions.

She supposes that Karen simply knows her, and it is obvious that Claire would not request such a thing as this, if it was not important - if something did not happen.

Karen ushers her out to the car and tucks her in first, and then they are driving. There is a silence, and Claire must fall asleep because the next thing she knows Karen is whispering to her to wake up. Claire unfolds stiff and sore limbs, and she slowly eases herself out of the car. Karen is by her side, watching with worried eyes.

"I'm okay," Claire gasps, because her joints ache and her back and ribs are screaming so loudly in her ears that she is surprised she can still see straight, can still hear properly.

She wonders why she too doesn't start screaming.

She thinks that if she did, she would never stop.

Karen wraps an arm around her and leads her up to the front porch.

"Come on, honey." She unlocks the door and guides Claire through it, before locking it behind them.

"Do you want a tea or coffee?"

"No, thank you," Claire murmurs. She is happy to just sit in Karen's presence. Karen is safe.

Karen would understand because she's been through something similar, not that they ever speak of it.

"What's happened? It's not Owen, is it?" They are sitting across from each other, Claire bowed into herself, and Karen holding herself stiffly - tense, and waiting to spring when ready. Though it is not in attack, and this is what Claire needs.

Owen would be poised to attack.

Claire starts to cry, and she cannot stop. Sobs wrack through her body, and Karen moves and wraps her in strong, steady arms.

"It's okay. Shh, you're safe now. It's alright, baby." She whispers over and over again, and even though Claire knows that she is none of those things, she suddenly feels it. Such is the strength and assurance behind her sister's words.

When Claire finally lifts her head, Karen stops, and stares. Claire knows that her make up must be gone from the drench of her tears.

She knows, because of the way Karen is looking at her. There is a mixture of pity, and rage so vivid that Claire almost shrinks back. But it is soon gone, and the look replaced by tenderness.

"May I?" she asks softly, and Claire nods and holds herself very still. Karen is slow; her hand stretches out and hovers inches away from Claire's eyes. Claire stares at it, acknowledging that it is not there to harm her.

Her shoulders relax and her body softens. It is only then that Karen's hand drops to the side of her cheek, cupping it, fingers brushing the swollen skin.

"Oh, honey." Karen whispers, and Claire swallows shakily.

Karen removes her hand and then the anger is back.

"Who did this?"

"I killed Zara." Claire blurts out.

Karen looks confused, and then understanding flashes across her face.

"Your personal assistant?"

"Yes."

"The one who was paid to do business _and_ personal errands under contract?"

Claire just looks at Karen, who is looking steadily back at her.

"I may have been mad at you for not being with the boys. I may not have understood, as a mother. But, from a business perspective - she was doing her job."

"It was her father. It's personal to him."

Anger flares in Karen's eyes, and this time Claire leans back from it as if she will get burnt.

"You did not kill Zara. Your actions did not kill her. Who's to say she wouldn't have died, regardless? Claire, honey. A terrible thing happened. But it's not your fault. You are not responsible." Karen is patient and firm. Claire feels like a kid again, feels that because Karen is older, that she knows better.

Even though she doesn't - not about this.

"I know that it'll take more then my words to undo this damage. But I am here for whatever you need. The only request that I have is that you tell Owen. _Yes_ , Claire. You can't hide this from him. It's your choice if you want to tell the boys. I will not push for that. They still don't know about me. But you need Owen, Claire." Claire is shaking her head, and then she is putting it in her hands. She does not cry, but simply stays there, hidden.

"I can't." She finally moans.

"Why do you think that?"

Claire says nothing.

"Honey?"

"I don't know. I don't want him to know. I'm a burden enough as it is-"

"No, Claire." Karen says fiercely, and Claire peeks up through her fingers.

"Look at me properly."

Claire can't disobey her sister; she drops her hands and straightens up. She finds it difficult, but manages to look her sister in the eye.

"You are his wife." She says it so simply that Claire is rendered to silence. Karen smiles knowingly, but it is brief.

"Granted, you two have the kind of jobs that make your lives very different to everyone else. But that doesn't not mean your marriage is any different. Or the love that you two have. You're in it together - for better or worse. I'll make up the spare room. Do you want to shower before you go to bed? Do you need anything pain killers?"

"I've taken some - but it might be time for some more. As for the shower, no thank you. But a glass of water would be great, thank you."

* * *

She feels as if she's only slept minutes when she is awoken by voices.

"I want to see Claire! How come she was too busy to talk to us but not too busy to come see you?" Gray asks. Claire winces not at the accusatory tone, but at the hurt that is evident in his voice. She doesn't hear Karen's response, but more the soft vibrations of speech.

Claire forces herself up, and then immediately has to take a break. She cannot help being surprised at how horrible she feels today. She knows how it goes, but even knowing cannot prepare you.

She makes it slowly to her sister's bathroom, and rummages through the make up. There's concealer that is just her shade, and she focuses on putting it around her eye, which looks even worse today.

Claire does what she can, but it's not enough.

It never is.

She fishes for her sunglasses in her bag, glad that she likes the frames big. They settle on her nose, covering almost half of her face. She deems herself presentable and then begins the walk down the stairs. She is slow, but she manages. Hasn't she always?

As soon as she enters the kitchen, she knows she will not be able to make a hasty retreat by the expressions of the Dearing family.

Karen is knowing, Gray is confused and Zach looks disappointed. Claire knows the elder relies on consistency from adults, and she has broken that trust. She wants to salvage it, but she cannot because he would pick up on any insincerity - and she cannot tell the truth.

"Hi, boys. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll do an extra hour next week. Or, I'll take you out next weekend?"

"Why not now?" Zach challenges her, and Claire looks to Karen pleadingly.

"Zach." Karen says, and Zach seems to realize something else is going on, because his expression falters in intensity and he looks as if he thinking hard.

Gray, however, is slightly appeased.

"That'll be really cool! Can we-"

"Gray, honey. Claire will organize it with you later. And Zach, you know why not today." There is a heavy silence, and Claire is confused before it slams into her, and she stumbles as if it has hit her physically too. Any strength she had is gone, and Karen is immediately by her side.

Karen dismisses the boys quickly and efficiently, in a manner that is polite and necessary.

"Zach, can you please go upstairs with Gray and help him find a suit for the service this afternoon? Thank you, honey." Gary walks over to Claire and gives her a hug, nuzzling his head into her stomach. Claire slowly wraps her arms around him, and closes her eye for a moment.

"It's going to be okay, Claire. You'll see," he tells her seriously, and Claire takes a deep breath.

"I know, Gray. Of course it will be." Her face feels pinched from the fake smile she is bearing, and her eyes are starting to water under the force and-

And just because.

Gray beams at her before scurrying past his older brother and up the stairs.

The eldest hovers.

"What's going on?" he demands, his eyes cutting between the two sisters.

"It's going to be a hard day, Zach. Please understand that," Karen says quietly. She looks at him, and he looks at her, and Claire feels as if something else has been passed between them. He nods and drags his eyes over to his aunt. Claire can tell he wants to say something, and can understand his frustration at the lack of knowledge he has to base his words on.

"It's okay, Zach. I'll see you later. Just - please don't say anything today. Not to Owen. Please."

There is a pause. Zach cocks his head to the side and studies Claire, and she suddenly wished she hadn't said anything.

"Why can't I say anything to Owen?"

Karen looks at Claire, who's eyes remain on Zach's.

"Today will be hard enough. He doesn't need to worry about me, too."

"Does he have a reason to worry about you today?"

"He'll be worried about us all regardless." Claire reminds him quietly, and Zach's eyes narrow on hers. He then nods, but he still doesn't look as if he believes her.

"Fine." He turns on his heel and strides up the stairs, and Karen frowns after him before turning to Claire, expression softening.

"Will you be okay? I know you said you don't need medical attention but-"

"I'm fine." Claire cuts her off firmly.

"Have it your way. But Claire? I'm saying this because I love you. If you don't tell Owen soon, I will."

"Karen - _no_!" Claire is frantic and pleading, but Karen is absolute in her demand. She waits until Claire stops, and then continues.

"Claire, you have to tell him. He is your partner. If you were alone, I'd order you to stay with me. But you are not. You still have yet to tell me all the details. But this man works with you. I cannot, and will not, stand for that. You tell him by the time this weekend is over, Claire. Tell him- _or I will_."

Claire makes a pained noise from the back of her throat, and Karen steps up to her, taking her by the arms. She begins to rub soothing circles into Claire's skin, and it's not until Claire relaxes slightly that Karen lets go.

"Come on, you need to get back and prepare." Karen doesn't say it, but Claire knows she's not just talking about the memorial service.

The ride to the airport is full of thick tension, and Claire feels that if she attempts to break it, it will devour her instead, so she doesn't.

Neither does Karen, not until they are waiting for the helicopter.

"Claire."

"What?" Claire says quietly, but she knows.

"Tell him."

"Karen -"

"By tomorrow evening, Claire."

But it's before than that things fall apart.


	4. Chapter 4

Claire stands in the shower at the bungalow. She has just placed her old clothes in a plastic bag and hidden it behind the towels in the cupboard. She liked that outfit, but now wants nothing more to do with it, even though there is no physical trace of yesterday's events.

She knows that if she were to ever put it on again, she would be directly transported back to the event.

Claire stands under the shower, closing her eyes as the hot water hits her marks and bruises in the right places. It is only when she feels composed enough that she forces herself to twist of the taps, and step out. She digs around for something black to wear, that has good coverage. She finds a dress that is adequate, and even with it on, she feels anything but.

Only then does she check her phone. Owen, Karen, Owen and Zach. She flicks quickly through Owen's messages first, distracted by her nephew's text. It is not uncommon for him, but after today, she is wary.

One was from Owen last night, telling her he loves her. She flicks a quick text back, even though she is sure she will see him soon. The service is in the afternoon, and work does not stop for their creations.

Another one is informing her that he'll be there in another hour or so, and that was half an hour ago. She does not bother to respond to that.

Karen is hoping she had a safe flight and drive back, and Claire makes sure to respond to that-or _else._

Now, Claire's fingers hover over her last unread message, and she takes a deep breath before clicking into it.

 _Hi, Claire. After everything that has happened, don't you think that I know when it's something serious? We're family. I'm not a kid anymore, so whenever you're ready just know that I'm here to talk._

Claire has to put down the phone, and she bites down on her lip so hard that she's forced to focus on that pain instead.

She wonders why she was blessed with these sweet kids-knows that she doesn't deserve it because it took so long for her to appreciate it. She wonders why it had to take such drastic measures. Morbidly, she thinks that she's not so surprised she fits so well with Owen. He is the tamer of 'monsters'. And although she is not so far gone to think of herself quite like that, she knows she is cold blooded.

She places her sunglasses on her face after an infuriating attempt of covering the bruise, one that resulted in the compact being shattered. She's lucky she didn't leave a dent in the wall.

Claire realises in the end that she cannot hide it forever-even without Karen's promise to interfere. She excels in facades, but knows that there are too many cracks in this one, and that she can only hold it together for so long.

She wants to keep the pretense up as long as she can-while she knows it won't be long at all, because it is _Owen._

He is above all, a watcher, a protector. An alpha. She cannot forget this.

* * *

Owen knows.

He may not know what has happened, but he knows it is something. He takes one look at and his face falls.

"What happened to you?"

Even though she has the big sunglasses on, she still knows she can pull off the 'Claire Dearing' look.

Owen just looks at her; he's always been unfazed by it.

"Well?" He prods her when she doesn't respond.

"Why don't you get ready?" She asks him calmly.

It doesn't deter him.

"What's with those?" He juts his chin in the direction of her eyes.

Claire fights a sigh.

"I think it's acceptable for today."

"In your own home?"

"Yes. Problem?" A pause then, and Claire risks glancing at him. Owen seems to be battling what he wants to say; she sees the indecision on his face as his mind flicks through appropriate responses.

"Really? It's just me, Claire."

"I'm aware of that. Go shower, you stink." She crinkles her nose, but smiles a small smile at him. It slips as he makes his way over to her, and she holds herself still, watchful, waiting.

She knows Owen would never, ever hurt her.

Knows it above anything else.

But _her body does not._

Owen places his hands on upper arms and leans forward to press his lips to her forehead. She lets out a content sigh at the tender gesture, and he than wraps his arms around her. Feeling more relaxed now, she steps into him, and lets herself sink against his chest. He is the the raft in these tedious waters, and she feels steady and safe here. Owen steps away, and he eyes her critically.

"What?" she asks innocently, and then continues before he can respond and reopen the conversation.

"Go and get ready, we have to leave soon." Owen wrinkles his nose at the first comment, and then it smooths into something like wariness.

"Alright, but this conversation isn't over."

Claire holds back a sarcastic laugh - because when is it ever over?

"Think of what today is, Owen. That is all there is to it - and isn't it enough? Go on," she cuts him off when he begins to speaks, and thankfully, he retreats and the conversation is dropped.

She's wearing black, and him a suit. They are both silent as they make their way to Claire's car. She drops the keys into his hand silently, and opens the door and slides an aching body in. As Owen climbs in and starts the car, she sinks into the soft material, an arm wrapped around her stomach casually, but pressing into her side to hold it still.

Movement hurts.

The car ride is silent, but it is not awkward. It is Claire that reaches out, and places a hand on Owen's thigh. He looks over at her, his eyes serious. Claire wonders what he is seeing, but the moment is gone as he turns back to the road.

Karen and the boys are waiting patiently, and all stare at Claire as the couple emerge from the vehicle. Claire looks at Owen, and his eyes are narrowed in thought at this.

"I think they're mad at me. For missing the call." Claire whispers, but Owen says nothing. Claire then steps forward to greet her family, as if she hadn't seen them earlier this morning.

"Hi," She murmurs first to Karen. They embrace, and Karen puts her lips to Claire's ear.

"You didn't tell him." The whisper vibrates of disappointment.

"How could I today?"

"Tomorrow." They pull apart, and Claire moves to Zach next as Owen hugs his sister in law.

"Thank you. I love you," Claire says to Zach, and he smiles but his eyes are searching. Claire focuses her attention on Gray and ruffles his hair, earning a huff of annoyance that is a pretense.

Claire than takes a step back and watches as Owen and the boys greet each other. Even though they speak regularly-last night even - they exchange words and embraces that would suggest that the time is not enough. There is the kind of love in it that takes Claire's breath away. She will never get used to how giving Owen is to those who he cares about, and wonders if it comes so easy to him, why she feels selfish when she receives it.

Why shouldn't she take it now, when she needs it more than ever?

But she can't.

She turns and is pinned in Karen's gaze.

She has to.

But she can't.

* * *

Claire feels as if she doesn't deserve to sit up the front. But she knows she has to-and it goes beyond what is expected of her professionally.

She has to, because the dead deserve her respect. And if that makes her uncomfortable-than so be it. At least she's alive to feel it.

She also deserves to suffer. And suffer she does as she slides in, Karen beside her, followed by Gray, Zach and then Owen. She thinks this seating arrangement is on purpose, and knows that it works. She is not so selfish as to put her nephews needs above her own. They already have a mother, and a good, strong one at that.

But their father is not those things and so, Owen fills that role easily. It is not something they speak of often, but it is something that happens like a natural reflex now.

Claire is only happy to do something right; she gave them Owen.

As the man at the front begins to speak, the hold Claire has over herself, begins to thaw and break, and she doesn't realize she is shaking with the effort to contain herself until Karen takes her hand, stopping the tremors.

The elder sister does not say anything, but is instead silent support. The grief wavers around the room, hitting all like a tidal wave and leaving no survivors. Grief knows all, and greets all intimately. It knows the spaces to fill, and if it cannot visibly see one, then it knows exactly where to hit to create room.

Claire's eyes begin to ache and sting from the force of her attention. She uses this to focus her attention on preventing them from watering. Soon, she can no longer hear the sobs, or the soft whimpers of people desperately trying to hold back. She can feel Owen's eyes on her, but she knows that if she breaks than it will be done. Karen's arm goes around her shoulders, and she tugs and pulls Claire back.

It is only when Claire is nestled back into the seat that she realizes how far forward she was leaning.

And then she suddenly feels a different kind of burn. Someone is staring at her, and she knows exactly who it is. Her eyes go to the side, and she sees Mr. Smith's profile.

Her stiffening alerts Karen.

"Honey?" she whispers, and Claire feels like she can't breathe.

Because, quite simply, she can't.

Karen realizes that something else is going on, and she suddenly pulls Claire up. If Claire wasn't struggling to compose herself, she would feel mortified at her complete lapse of control.

The priest continues, used to such things, and Karen mutters to Claire to _move_ as she leads Claire past her stunned nephews and husband.

Owen looks torn between following and staying with the boys, but Karen settles the decision for him when she shakes her head.

Claire can't remember walking down the room, but suddenly she is breathing fresh air and her back is against her wall. Karen takes a step away, though her arms hover, ready and waiting.

Claire can hear a strangled moan, and she wonders who is making that noise when she realises it is her. With that revelation, she stops and sinks to the ground. Karen follows her down, keeping level with her.

"Hey, breathe. Come on now." Karen's voice is a gentle whisper, but the command still comes through. Claire's foggy mind registers it, and suddenly she can.

Now that breathing has become a mindless task again, other things start to fill the empty space.

"Oh, _God_ ," Claire presses her hands to her face.

'Is he here?" Karen sounds angry, but the hand on Claire's shoulder is soft.

"This day isn't about me. It's about-"

" _Claire._ Is he here?"

"Yes, but-" She stops at Karen's deadly look. The elder takes a breath, and the tension starts to leave her face.

"Alright. Well, let's hope he is here just to pay his respect to his daughter. That's what this day is about, and if it becomes anything less I will..."

"Okay, mother hen." Claire tries to tease, but Karen's eyes are serious.

"You too have losses from that day." Karen reminds her, and Claire stops. She sees sense in what Karen is saying, but dismisses it.

Besides, she thinks she gained, but she will not say that.

"Karen, I don't know what I'm doing. This isn't me, but I don't..." Claire can't even find the words to describe exactly what she means, but Karen gets it.

She always has.

"You're Claire Dearing-Grady. You excel in management and operations - and anything that you set our brilliant mind too. You love fiercely, and your loyalty is to be respected and admired. Your'e Claire, my little over-achieving sister." Some time during this declaration Karen has cupped Claire's cheek.

And then the spell is broken.

"But, you look ridiculous in those glasses," Karen says, frowning, and she sounds so much like their mother that Claire can't stop the giggle that escapes. Then there is laughter, and Karen joins in, even though there is nothing remotely funny.

That is how the boys find them.

"Women," Gray mutters, but Zach and Own know better and exchange uneasy glances.


	5. Chapter 5

They are at a restaurant, and all Claire can think about as she gazes down at her untouched plate is that she wants to just sleep.

But she knows more than anyone, that she will not find escape in the solace of her dreams.

That those things that chase you through the day, will catch you at night.

Claire thought that it would be hard enough to have dinner with her family after such an event - but she realizes she doesn't know what hard is until half of the gathering follow them.

Including Mr. Smith and his son.

Claire realizes she still doesn't know his first name, but she can't imagine calling him anything but.

She tries not to look, and tries to distract herself with her food, or with joining in on the pitiful attempts of conversation. But eyes burn into her again, and she has to fight the urge to look down at her chest to make sure she's still intact, because...because

 _How can she be when she feels as if she's ash?_

She feels Owen's eyes on her every few moments, and she begins to force herself to eat.

Even the food tastes like ash.

Maybe it's appropriate for this day.

"So, I know a girl in my grade who always wore sunglasses." Even though Zach's voice is quiet, the words are loud. They are said to be heard.

Owen puts down his fork, his eyes intent on Zach's face.

Karen's looking at Claire, and Claire is staring hard at the salt shaker.

"Turns out she had allergies. Do you have allergies, Claire?" Zach is all innocence, blinking at her with a perplexed expression, but Claire knows better. Owen looks as if he's just had a revelation, and turns horrified eyes onto her.

"Excuse me," Claire murmurs and stands abruptly. She doesn't offer any excuse, just scurries from the table.

She cannot do this.

Not on this day, and not with _him_ here.

Claire rounds the corner to the restrooms that are tucked away, but is stopped. Some spins her around, and before she knows what she's doing, her arms are going up and across her face.

There is a silence, and the first thing Claire becomes aware of is that it is not Mr. Smith, because it doesn't smell like him. Appalled, she slowly drops her arms, and her wide eyes meet Zach's own.

He takes a deep breath.

"Owen wanted to come after you. But some man got his attention." Claire's stomach clenches, and her sore muscles protest at the movement. She forces herself to stay still.

Zach's eyes narrow.

"My friend didn't have allergies. And she reacted to people surprising her _just like you did_. I'm sure you know the reason."

Claire shrugs, trying to come off as casual. As if this conversation is pointless.

"She was just a jumpy, nervous person?"

"Are you just a _jumpy, nervous_ person?" Zach shoots back, and Claire doesn't respond because they both know that she is the opposite.

Used to be the opposite.

"I didn't think so. Someone hurt her. So you know what my next question is going to be, don't you? _Who hurt you, Claire?_ What happened to you?" He stares at her, all the hardness gone and replaced by a look that is between desperation and anger. Now so bluntly confronted, she doesn't know how to proceed. She knows that it was inevitable, but she never thought past this. She never really thought about what she would do when her time was up.

She is not prepared.

She thinks she never will be for this conversation.

"Please, Zach. I'm really-"

"Fine? You fell, right? That's why you're wearing the sunglasses- _right_? Because you're embarrassed about crying about the service?" This time the anger wins, and his expression dares her to continue lying to him. She is reminded of a spider, and she is the fly who instead of trying to get out of the web, keeps heading towards the thing that wants to devour her.

"Who was it? Does Owen know?"

"No. He doesn't." Zach doesn't seem surprised with this, just, if possible, angrier.

"Who was it?"

She doesn't respond.

Can't respond.

"Claire?"

"Zach-"

" _No_. Don't try and spin this. Don't plead with me to ignore that someone hurt you. Is he he now?" She is saved from having to respond when Owen's voice rings out,

"The only reason you're still standing in one piece is because of what this day is. But if you say stuff like that about my wife again, I won't be so reserved. _Walk. Away_." Claire pushes past Zach and rounds the corner, Zach close on her heels.

Owen and Mr. Smith are standing inches apart. Owen has the same look on his face that he had just before he punched Hoskins.

She knows he's only seconds away from it.

Mr. Smith looks smug-and maybe he's accustomed to her presence as she is to his, because he looks over and meets her eyes.

And smiles that slow, predatory smile that traps her.

"Why? Your wife agrees that she's a killer, too."

"Father," George interrupts, looking pale as he drops a hand on Mr. Smith's shoulder. But Owen is now looking at Claire in such a way that Claire can't even move or think to respond. She knows that everyone's attention is on them. She knows that Karen and Zach are communicating, knows that Gray is confused and frightened, knows that George is now moving his father away. But all she can do is stare back at Owen like a frightened little animal.

Farewells are hastily made. Owen shows great restraint by bidding Karen, Gray and Mitchell goodbyes. He is polite, and even though his movements are tense, they still remain gentle.

Claire invites them to stay, but Karen gives her such a look that there is no need for her answer to be spoken. Gray quite looks like he wants to question what has occurred, but surprising them all, he doesn't. He is more reserved and quiet, and Claire briefly wonders how that conversation is going to go once her and Owen leave. Zach hugs Claire last, very carefully, and Claire touches his face before Owen wraps an arm around her and leads her to the car.

She waits for him to ask her, but the drive home is silent. She knows this is a conversation for home, but she cannot stand the prolonging of it, and it is suddenly all she can see, feel and taste. It vibrates through her, and she knows she is shaking and wishes she could just stop, but she can't. Any last cords of control have snapped.

And then, Owen places a warm hand on her thigh, stilling and comforting her in the one gesture.

Claire somewhat relaxes, and sinks into the seat. She does not look at him, but instead out the window as the scenery rushes away past her.

She wishes she could go with it.

When they arrive at their home, Claire is a mess again. But she's out of the car as soon as Owen kills the engine. She's got the key in the door as he tumbles out, and is only feet away from the bathroom until he is in front of it, stopping her.

Blocking her.

She stops.

He is still.

"You think you're a killer?" The words tumble out, but they are not messy. They are pronounced firmly, and slowly. They surround her, and she cannot escape them.

Claire cannot do what he wants her to-which is for her to deny it.

So she does nothing.

Says nothing.

"Damn it, Claire." It is a whisper, and Claire takes a step back.

Owen takes one forward.

"What did he say to you?"

"Just that. I told you what he said."

"No, no. Something has changed. _Tell me._ " Owen is bristling with restrained anger, and he takes another step closer to her. Claire holds her ground, looking at him.

"Nothing has changed - not even with him. He is still resolute in his belief about me. Why do we need to be having this conversation? _Why_ are we having this conversation?"

"I can't believe you're asking me that question." Owen is shaking his head at her, and before she can respond he is continuing.

"I'll answer your ridiculous question. One - you think you're a killer? Two - the dynamic has shifted between you two. Something has happened, and I know you want to forget about it but that's just too damn bad. We were past this, Claire. Past the guilt trips - we were moving forwards."

"We are," Claire can only just manage the two words.

"No we're not."

She clenches her teeth, mashes her lips together.

"After your first encounter, I know you were shaken up. But nothing like this. And can you take off those damn sunglasses? It is just us!" Even though he has just asked her to, he reaches out himself. She shakes her head and steps out of his reach, away from his outstretched fingers.

"Claire, take them off and _talk to me_."

"Owen- _fine_. He's Zara's father, alright? He thinks it's unfair that I lived and now play happy families because of it. She died looking after my nephews-the ones I apparently couldn't care less about. So I deserved it!" She shouts the last sentence, and isn't aware that she has until there is a ringing silence in it's wake.

"Deserved _it?_ Deserved _what_?" Owen's voice sounds quiet after her shrill tone.

"Deserved what he did- _said_." Claire fumbles, and then stops. She is seconds away from putting her hand against her mouth.

There is a pause.

"You deserved what he did? What exactly was it, Claire? And by exactly, I mean you better tell me every detail." Owen says the words very slowly, and she's not sure if that's for her benefit or because if he doesn't exercise control, he will lose it completely.

His gaze zooms to her sunglasses, and he looks as if the light has switched on.

Except, his expression is the opposite.

Dark, and forbidding, and for a split second, Claire is scared.

It's the first time she's ever been scared of Owen.

Owen takes a deep breath. It seems to take a lot, and Claire tries to prepare herself.

"Take off the glasses, Claire." He is giving her the choice. She knows he will remove them himself if she doesn't.

So, she does what she can.

She stalls.

"I need to take a shower."

"Okay," he says pleasantly, and she begins to relax. "But first, the glasses. They are expensive, aren't they? You wouldn't want to ruin them. Besides, today is over. You have no other use for them, right, Claire?"

He is looking at her, and she suddenly sees how much this has taken a toll on him. She sees it in the slouch of his posture, in the tightness of his face. She wonders how it doesn't crack from the pressure of his restraint. She knows he's angry - but he is doing a good job of keeping it at bay for her.

She knows it won't hold up much longer.

"I can always get new sunglasses," She doesn't know why she is even trying anymore, "they are not that expensive." Owen's expression tells her exactly what he thinks of what she's just said.

That it is a last resort of a delay, and they both know it, and he is done going along.

"They ache," She adds for good measure.

"I bet they do." Owen's voice is just above a whisper.

"Yours would, too."

"They probably would." Claire turns and moves to the kitchen. Going for a shower is out of the option, and she needs room to move and pace.

Owen tracks her, and she can't even think of something to busy herself with. She was always good with distractions, but this time she knows it won't be enough. She tries a different tact now.

"I'm okay. I know you think-"

"No you're not, Claire. And I don't think you're not. _I know_." He's done asking now, and leans forward. His hand is suddenly looming over, and she can't help it or stop it before she lets out a noise of distress.

Owen stops, and time stops.

Then she stops.

His eyes are wide as he looks down at her, and she can see what that noise has done to him.

Now, she is more than just his wife. She is one of his pack who is hurt, and he is not Alpha for nothing.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just taking these off, alright?" He says in a soothing voice, one reserved for wounded animals. One that is used to get the injured to trust.

"Don't-" She tries to move again, but the bench is in her way. His face is almost apologetic, and he continues, grasping the glasses in his hands and removing them.

Then, he is still again, and the glasses are suddenly broken in his hand.

Owen puts them dismissively on the bench behind him, not breaking eye contact with her. He reaches out, and his fingers hover over the bruise before lightly grazing it. She flinches, and this time he makes his own low, pained noise.

"He do this?" Owen's voice is soft, but Claire knows better.

"Yes."

"Where else?"

"Just-"

"Claire. Stop. Where else?"

"He was-he was quite generous to my face." She admits, knowing that he's going to check her anyway regardless of what she says. Owen blanches, and Claire drops her gaze. It doesn't matter because he's backing away from her.

"Claire. I need you to go to your room. Stay there. I'll be back shortly." He grabs the keys.

"No!" Claire moves in front of him, blocking his way. He grits his teeth.

"I told you what would happen, Claire. Now, can you please do what I ask?" It's not a request. Owen is in full Alpha mode-but he should know better. She will not obey him, not on this.

"No, Owen." She sees the quick movements of his chest as his body struggles under the weight of his anger, and she wants nothing more than to fix this, but she is so broken and hurting herself so how can she fix anything?

"Stay with me," she whispers.

"Baby, I need you to move out of my way."

"Owen. I need you." This causes him to pause, and they look at each other.

"I know. But...but I can't." He admits, and then continues, "I should have known this. You should have told me straight away. I would have made sure you were never to see him again. I would have made him pay for every bruise he has left on you, and every bad word against you. I would have made him pay for those thoughts in your head. And-if I had known when he'd been in my face tonight about this, I would not have let him walk away-let alone asked him too. So, now that I know...Well, you know what needs to happen."

She shakes her head. Processes what he has said, but is too focused on making him not do what he is thinking of doing.

"Tomorrow, Owen. Please. This day has been awful enough."

"Awful." Owen almost snorts, and shakes his head at the word that is not sufficient enough to describe these events.

"I don't want to frighten you." Owen says honestly.

"You won't." She thinks of when she was scared those few seconds-but she knows, knows it in every inch of her body, better than she knows herself.

Owen would never hurt her.

He looks longingly at the door, and then back to her. She wishes she could put the glasses back on, because his eyes are now zeroed on the corner of hers, and he's clenching his jaw again.

"It doesn't make a difference, Claire. Me staying here tonight. Because I will be seeing him."

"Okay," She says, because she doesn't want to argue about it. Claire has her own ideas on how to handle this from here on.

"And. Conditions. First, we leave the island so that you can deal with this and heal. Secondly, you report it. Here at the Park, and legally. Thirdly, if you are still not dealing with this after some time away, you go and see someone about it."

He looks at her, and she knows he's not messing around.

"What about work?"

"What about it?" Owen says back, as if it doesn't mean anything when it does to the both of them.

"Owen." She calls him out on it.

"Claire. Work will still be here. We'll get around it. My priority is you, and your well being. Speaking of, I still need to check over you."

She bites her lip at this. He's now inches away from her. He looks at her bruised eye again and touches it softly, before his hands move down to the bottom of her shirt.

Her fingers go over his, preventing.

"Maybe when you've calmed down." She whispers, and Owen's grip on the material tightens. She feels his pulse quicken against her own, and feels his breath grow heavy, fanning in her ear.

She tries to remove his fingers, but he shifts the hold so that now his hand covers hers.

"Stop it, Claire. This is non-negotiable."

Her fingers go limp, and Owen slides her shirt over her head.

He swallows, and his eyes widen as they take in the marks.

"Yes. I'd say you were correct. Generous to your face indeed." Owen's voice is tight, but his fingers are very gentle as they prob and trace. Claire bites her tongue to hold back the whimpers, but she cannot help the sharp breath she releases as he touches her side. Owen stops, and looks up at her from his bent position.

"I know," he says quietly, and Claire thinks her expression says it all, because suddenly Owen is standing upright again.

"You didn't deserve this. You are not a killer. You are not a bad person. You were a person, in a bad situation. Mr. Smith is not a judge." He repeats this mantra, and Claire can tell that he wants to say much more, but the choice of his words were for an important reason. One that she becomes aware of as he continues with it. Slowly it breaks her, and Claire wonders if this is the last piece to be unraveled before she is completely undone.

She wants to ask him to stop, but knows he won't. If anything, he will keep pushing.

"This is not okay. You did not deserve this. You are a good person. I know better than anyone-because you are mine. You're mine, and I'm going to take care of this, and care of you." She starts to sink, and Owen catches her and lifts her up. He walks into the bathroom and props her on the sink as he starts to run the bath.

Claire's sobs are louder than the water, and Owen is turning back to her.

"I love you. You're not a killer. You're not Zara's killer. I know you appreciated her. And I know she appreciated you too. She told me so when she set up our date. So let's honor her, okay? I think she'd like that." He whispers.

"It's okay." They both know it is not.

But it will be.


	6. Chapter 6

_Now_

Claire can feel her bruises throb-but not with pain, or aches. No. It is a soft stinging sensation, a gentle, delicious shock made from the imprint of Owen's lips and tongue.

It is the first night away, and the third since Owen found out. How he managed to ease their schedule for six months, Claire didn't know, nor was she surprised. It was so like Owen to clear her pathway so easily, with nothing asked of her in return. Except - well... their deal.

She looks down at him from her position by the window. Even in his sleep, Owen still bears that frown, and she wonders, not for the first time, if her name should be tattooed there instead. Unable to think any more of it, she turns to the window and stares out. She closes her eyes as her mind is dragged back to yesterday; she is unable to fight it on her own. Mr. Smith has taken her strength, and she knows that when she gains it back it will not be her own, at least not straight away. Owen has and will continue to give much to her, and that is the burden the both of them bear. He has attempted to shut down her guilty thoughts on the matter, with calm but firm assurances that it is just a shift of balance. Owen thinks it is temporary, but Claire knows it is permanent.

 _Yesterday_

She sits at the bar, tapping fingers hidden in Owen's jumper against the empty bottle. She has finished her third glass of wine, and is beginning to feel the effects of it.

Good. She wants to forget, she wants to let go. Owen knows now, and any pretense of control she had is gone. She has the hood up, and she is pressed tightly into the back corner of the bar. It is late-or early morning, but when she woke up Owen was gone with a note informing her that he had some work to do, and Lowery was on the couch. A poor substitute. She had easily sneaked past the snoring man, and had high tailed it to the only place she knew was still open.

It was one that Zara had suggested not so long ago-to down her sorrows after her failure of a date with Owen.

And that had been a reason why she had ordered the bottle of wine instead of just a glass.

She raised her hand to signal for another bottle, and someone appeared beside her table, setting it down obediently.

"Shall I have a drink with you?" The voice is velvet, and beautiful, and Claire is suddenly cold. Her hands clench and she sucks in a breath and doesn't know how she is going to release it when she is so frozen and all she wants to is head past him and out the door-

But she can't move.

"Cat got your tongue? Here, have another drink. I've heard it loosens lips." Mr. Smith-she had recently learned that his first name was Harold-smoothly tips some wine into her glass, and then slips himself into the chair opposite her. He regards her for a moment, and his smile stretches even further.

"My, my. How the mighty have fallen." He purrs, and Claire looks at him coolly. At least, she hopes that her gaze comes across that she is rather indifferent. She's had too much to drink, and besides - Owen was right.

Their dynamic has changed.

Claire forces herself to respond.

"If you say so. I just happen to be cold."

"And out at a bar, and covered."

"You said it," Claire says, and reaches for the glass. Mr. Smith cocks his head as he watches her drink it, and only speaks when she puts the glass back onto the table.

"I _know_ it. I've been watching you. You're like a shell of your old self, a ghost. Seems only fair, doesn't it?"

Claire's hands begin to shake, and she drops them to her side and out of view. But he has seen, and now he is smirking again.

But it is she who speaks.

"No matter what I say, I have already lost, haven't I? The rules are decided by you. But you are no referee, no head coach. You have no real authority over me."

Claire takes another sip, and Mr. Smith doesn't wait for her to put her glass down this time.

"If you say so. But, Mrs. Grady. This is no game, this is life. You committed an unforgivable act, and since you went unpunished for so long, it only seems fair that I deliver your rightful sentence myself. In fact, you're still alive." The glint in his eyes bounces off her glass. "Well, for the most part."

Claire tries not to react, but he still sees her flinch at his cruelness.

"Just because I felt guilty did not mean I was. And you are no judge, no God. For now you've started something that is surely going to come back to you. Maybe with your son."

Claire knows that this man does not only love his daughter. No powerful man like this would cast aside a son, regardless of his worth. Perhaps it was even better for Harold - he could mold George into what he wanted.

"Are you threatening my son, Mrs. Grady? Was not killing one enough for you?"

Claire stands up, wobbling slightly.

"This is over. I am done with this. You dealt your punishment. You didn't just hurt me. You destroyed me. I was already-you just never saw- _couldn't understand_ -couldn't see past your _own_ grief. Couldn't see how much Zara's death effected me too. Had you but asked. Had you but sat down with me and spoken it out with me. No, _don't speak._ I am not finished. But this is. There is no more you can do to hurt me, Mr. Smith. Owen knows and so you should go while you can. And now, I'm going too." She goes to move past him, but he is as quick as he was last time, his hand whipping out in a flash. Claire makes a distressed, frightened noise, but before she can react any further Owen is there.

"Claire." It is a breath, a relief, a prayer of thanks. He takes her in his arms, holds her for a few moments, before moving her gently away.

"Ashley, do you mind?" Owen doesn't wait for a response from the bartender, instead he deposits Claire into the surprised woman's arms. Ashley's arms tighten around Claire, and Owen turns from them.

"Owen wait -"

Claire tries to lunge out of Ashley's arm, but the woman's grip is relentless. Where was she before? Is it only because of Owen that she is doing this?

"You knew this would happen, Claire. Ashley, can you please get her out of here?"

"Of course. Thanks for showing up in time." Ashley says, and then tugs Claire towards the door.

"Owen-"

"Bye, Claire. I'll see you at home." He doesn't even spare her a glance, and Ashley succeeds in getting her out of the door.

"Oh now you care?" Claire spits, and Ashley turns to face her, still holding onto her shoulders.

"I cared enough to call Owen as soon as he walked through the door. You're welcome." And then they pause as Owen's voice filters from inside.

"So you like dealing out karma? Same here. The only difference, that is huge enough to separate us as species -as human and monster- is that yours is completely, utterly unjustifiable. There is nothing, _nothing_ that Claire could ever do, that would warrant what you have done to her. The fact that she was still grieving over your daughter should have told you the person she was. The fact that she just fucking _stood there_ and _took it_ should also tell you. And the fact that you're _still_ hassling _my wife_ -that you _dared_ speak such lies to her, that you _dare_ lay your hands on her-is why what I'm about to do is c _ompletely, utterly justifiable._ "

And then Ashley is hauling her towards her car, and Claire sees and hears no more.

 _Now_

"Honey?" A sleepy voice interrupts her, and Claire is painfully brought back to the present. She cannot stop the gasp, and Owen goes still beside her.

"Sorry, I-"

"It's alright. Will you come back to bed?" His voice is soft and throaty with concern; she ignores it and turns back to look outside.

"No."

"Alright," He sighs, as if he knew that was going to be her answer.

"Would you like some tea?" He asks next and Claire directly turns to face him now. He doesn't say anything else, but drapes the quilt around her shivering frame. She grasps the corners in her hands, tightening it in an attempt to stop the trembling.

But it is a coldness from within, and no material can fight against that. Claire still hasn't responded, and Owen eyes her for a moment longer before he wraps an arm around her shoulder and guides her to the main room of the apartment they are in.

"Sit." He pushes her very gently down onto the couch. She then watches as Owen busies himself in the kitchen. Claire knows that he is aware of what she is going to ask him, as she has been the past day. Now that they are here and away, he has no choice but to answer her.

The kettle doesn't take long to boil, and both are silent as Owen completes his task and then comes back to her side. He sets the steaming cup down on the table, and then sits beside her. Owen puts his arm around the couch, giving the choice to her, and she takes it, scooting into his side. She rests her head on his shoulder, and grips his shirt in one hand.

"Tell me," Claire says, and so he does.

 _Yesterday_

He knows before he gets the phone call, that it is about Claire. He's already seeing red, and it breaks into a blackness that threatens to consume his world. His instincts take over; one moment he's collecting tape, and the next he's on his bike. With the distance closing every second, his heart picks up, pounds, answering Claire's own. The raw primal urge to protect, to avenge, is so strong that he gives all of his senses to the one. He is no longer Owen Grady, but Alpha. And Claire is his partner. He doesn't remember parking his bike, nor how fast he ran.

He collides through the door, takes but a few seconds to find them; sees a hand coming out and _moves_.

He pulls Claire away, taking her gently in his arms and turning her away, shielding her. He whispers her name over and over, and he feels the tension leave her body. Only then does he move her gently away, looking over to Ashly. She's standing with her arms folded to the side, waiting on his call.

"Ashley, do you mind?"

Of course Claire fights him.

"Owen, wait-"

"You knew this would happen, Claire. Ashley, can you please get her out of here?"

"Of course. Thanks for showing up in time." Ashley says, and then turns to Claire. He hears his wife spit out something, and in any other circumstance might be amused. He would definitely turn around to watch. But he needs her gone. Ashley handles her own, and then he is turning back to the man he's been waiting to talk to for weeks now. In the face of the elder, all he sees Claire bruised and broken. It is so deeply imprinted in his mind that he thinks it will never be removed. It may fade and crinkle at the edges, but it will still be there. Such a deep wound that has been inflicted not to Claire, but to him as well.

"So you like dealing out karma? Same here. The only difference, that is huge enough to separate us as species -as human and monster- is that yours is completely, utterly unjustifiable. There is nothing, _nothing_ that Claire could ever do, that would warrant what you have done to her. The fact that she was still grieving over your daughter should have told you the person she was. The fact that she just fucking _stood there_ and _took it_ should also tell you. And the fact that you're _still_ hassling _my wife_ -that you _dared_ speak such lies to her, that you _dare_ lay your hands on her-is why what I'm about to do is c _ompletely, utterly justifiable."_

Harold blinks at the dedicated speech, looking almost taken aback by it. Then he is smiling, and Owen cocks his head at this, unsure why the other is not taking him seriously. He is _deadly_ serious, and Harold is about to find this out.

"Oh? I believe Claire and I aren't even _square_ yet. I was quite merciful, wasn't I? An eye for an eye - not _quite_ yet. A man such as yourself-"

"Do not finish that sentence. Someone by the likes of yourself cannot fit in the equation against another human, as you're not one. I can see that you have no remorse for your actions. If you had even a shred of good in you, then you would not have touched Claire. You had to know that I would find out. You cannot be so stupid to think that I wouldn't? That when I did-I would just let this slide?" Owen begins to pace before him, his eyes dark and feral. Mr. Smith matches him step by step, though they both keep the distance.

"Then you are a hypocrite. For as you said, you're here for her."

"I'm here because of what I am. You must not have done your research so well."

"Perhaps I was too focused on Claire."

Owen succeeds in not letting the other man know just how much that comment bothers him.

"Just another error in your many."

There is a silence, where the other falters for a moment. And then he bounces back.

"In the end she was right. Nothing can bring back Zara. I've done what I can, and that was enough for me."

Owen stops pacing and looks closely at him. Mr. Smith stares back evenly, expression blank and neutral to the untrained eye. But this is Owen's specialty, working with monsters.

Except he doesn't think of his animals as such things. It would be an insult to them, if he compared them to Harold.

"Right. It's a waste of time going back and forth on this, though I will say this. The moment I heard that you had touched my wife, I wanted to come swinging. But Claire asked me not to. She thought this was a battle she could win. I made a terrible error in judgement with compromising on the matter with her. You have started a war. And _your_ mistake was thinking that you'd won just because the other side was down. But I'm here now to help, and eliminate you. I can see that there is no changing your thoughts on what you did. That's fine. This is retribution. This is me fighting back for her. This is me protecting my own and harming anyone who harms my own." Owen strides forward and Mr. Smith is suddenly against the wall. He has made no protest, although his mouth now opens and closes as he attempts to. Owen doesn't want to hear it.

"What, you don't like it? You don't like someone pinning you against a wall, leaving you defenseless while they hurt you and strip you down, _huh_?" Owen's voice raises, and he succeeds in his task to intimate the other. Harold flinches, and it is enough to give Owen some satisfaction.

It is enough to have him wanting more of the man's fear.

"I don't care what you think or say. It's done, isn't it? And that's what gets you the most. Knowing that no matter what you do-you can't undo what I've done." There's that damn smugness again, but it slowly fades Harold takes notice of Owen's expression. It is an expression that goes past fury. It is this moment, that Mr. Smith understands what he's up against. Owen does not look entirely human here-but like some beast. Like a wolf - an _alpha_.

And then Owen speaks, in a voice that is so quiet that it commands surrounding noises to be still, so it can be heard.

"I am not a savage, I will not go after someone you love. This time. Make no mistake-what's happening now is personal. But it will be bigger. It will not just be public for us, but worldwide. Your name will be tarnished-your son's, too. Everything you worked for will be gone." It is not a threat, but a promise.

"You have nothing. Hear say, she say." But Mr. Smith is scared, scared of what Owen had not yet said, because somebody couldn't sound so convincing without evidence-could they?

Owen's lips stretch in a mocking, cruel grin.

"Did you forget that every room has cameras? I have seen the footage. That's what I was doing tonight before I got the call from Ashley. Ah, yes there it is. Fear. I've done enough talking. I think I've gotten my point across." Owen releases him and steps back, mouth tight and brows high as he waits for Mr. Smith to speak, who is struggling to find words again. Owen smiles.

"Cat got your tongue? I hear that's a favorite of yours." He says coolly.

Mr. Smith swallows.

"If you hurt me, then you are no better than I." He tries, and Owen almost scoffs at how pathetic he sounds.

"Well, I'm not going to kill you. And that alone makes me better. I think anyone would say fair's fair, right? But who cares about fairness here? You never did. You made the rules, I'm just being a true man and sticking to them. You can try and twist this anyway you want, but I am better. You can try and fight me, but I will win." And with that said, Owen lifts his fist and slams it into Mr. Smith's face.

 _Now_

Claire shudders, and Owen's arm drops from the couch and goes around her.

"And then?" She whispers.

"I won't speak of it. But he'll be fit for the trial. I made sure of that." Owen drops a kiss on her hair, and Claire is silent for so long that Owen wonders if she's mad at him.

"Do-does there have to be a trial?" Claire's voice is almost soft enough that Owen barely catches her question. In fact, he has to ask her to repeat it because he's sure that he has misheard.

"Yes. You understand what he did was wrong, don't you?"

"It's not as simple as-"

"Yes, it _is_. It doesn't matter that he was grieving. That is like blaming alcohol for your lack of conscious thought process. In the end, you still decided to pick up the drink, and then do it." Claire rolls her eyes at this.

"Fine. It's like building a genetic hybrid, keeping it isolated in captivity, and being surprised that it escapes and kills everything it sets it's eyes on." Owen says flatly, and Claire cannot find it in her to argue against him on that one. Owen does not say it to be cruel-facts are facts. He is just trying to make her see. And she does see. But it's not as easy as that, and she tells him.

"Owen, I do know. But it's not as easy as that. He was a father, and he lost a daughter."

" _Claire_ ," Owen growls, and Claire goes to move. His arm tightens and he bends down to meet her gaze. She almost shrinks away from him, and instead of that angering him, it just makes him sad. He feels as if they have lost so much, but knows that they are still here and are together. They have survived before, and they will again.

"I know this will take time. How do you feel about what I've just told you?"

"Mm. I don't know how to feel about it." She does not say thank you. She knows, that he knows she is grateful.

"I know. Come on, drink your tea." And Claire leans forward and takes the warm cup. She shifts so that her back is to Owen, and he moves so that she can lie on his chest and drink comfortably. Both are remembering the aftermath of the particular tale Owen has just finished telling, and both drift to sleep with it on their mind, but not before Owen takes the cup that is still half full away from Claire, lest she spill it on them both.

 _Yesterday_

Claire jumps up as soon as the door opens. She ignores Lowery, who makes a hasty retreat into the bathroom. Claire forgets her aches and pains, her fear of closeness in this moment; all she can feel is the relief that he is okay, and that he is here. They stare at each other, and then both are moving to embrace the other.

"Why did you go out, Claire? What else did he say to you? Did he hurt? Tell me, Claire." Owen's breathing questions into her ear, and she tightens her arms around him.

"I'm sorry. You came just in time, Owen. Thank you." Owen pulls back to cup the sides of her face, his own inches away. His eyes are narrowed as he looks into her watery ones, trying to find any other truths that she may not have spoken.

Owen leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead.

"It's done, Claire."

"It'll never be done." Her voice breaks, and she pulls in a shuddering breath. He stills above her, and then looks back done.

"We'll survive Claire. I promise I will not leave you alone - I'll be here every step of the way."

"I'm sorry." She breathes out again, hoping that he knows what she's sorry for. It's little and not enough, but she does not have it in her to say anymore. Owen presses another kiss against her head.

"It's okay, honey. It's going to be okay."


End file.
